Chapter Text
When the sun sets, the obsidian walls surrounding L’Manburg look like a blank, empty void sinking into the air. Dream might as well have cut out that piece of sky entirely. Collapsed it into a bottomless pit.
He supposes he could do that, if he wanted, and the knowledge sends a cold thrill of satisfaction down his spine. He’s standing on top of George’s castle, looking out over their land.
Dream’s castle, he corrects internally. Dream’s land.
There are footsteps behind him. Dream doesn’t move.
“Seems like you really got it through their skulls,” George says, stopping at Dream’s right shoulder.
A quick smile jerks itself across Dream’s face. “I think so.”
He can tell George is looking at him, but he doesn’t look back. “And you’re sure all this is necessary?”
“Tommy burned down your house, George. The king’s house. He can’t keep getting away with stuff like that.”
“I don’t care about the house, Dream,” George says, his voice weary. “I don’t think you care that much, either.”
Dream turns to look at him, then. He told George to wear the cape and the crown to give him an air of legitimacy, but in the evening light, the outfit looks a little too much like a costume. Like George is a dress-up doll. And his sad expression just makes him look pathetic.
“Does it matter?” Dream asks, turning back towards the view of the SMP.
George sighs. He places a hand on Dream’s arm, which shocks him – Dream pulls away, and George’s face goes dark. “Am I not allowed to touch you, now?” he says, bitter.
The words touch some place guilty inside of Dream. “Sorry,” he feels himself saying, like an old reflex.
George doesn’t try to touch him again.
“Do you remember when we first came to this place?” he says instead.
“Of course I do,” Dream says.
“Do you remember what you told me then?”
He does.
It was a new land. Untouched, uninhabited. Ungoverned. If any god had ever commanded these hills and valleys, they were either dead or disinterested, and Dream could feel the power in the air, unclaimed and searching for a host.
“We should just leave it alone,” George said, as they took a break from building their little house on the lake. He and Dream were standing on the path, gauging their progress, as Sapnap continued laying brick on the other side of the house. “It’ll only make things complicated.”
“Things will get complicated regardless,” Dream argued. “Someone else will come by, and they’ll take the power for themselves. Don’t you think it should be one of us?”
George crossed his arms, his brow darkening. “Divinity isn’t that simple, Dream.”
Of course it wasn’t. If power corrupted, divinity consumed. How many war gods had spawned from people unable to tame their violent impulses? How many men turned into natural disasters?
But Dream was young, sound of mind, good at heart. He felt sure he could shoulder the burden. After all, he held no ambition except to turn this untamed land into a home – a safe place for him and those he loved. A safe place for others, too, in a world ravaged with danger. Wasn’t that a noble goal?
“We’ve been traveling for so long,” he said, grabbing George’s hand. “I want a place where we can stay. For good.”
George laced their fingers together, soft and sure. “I don’t want to lose one of us to this.” His gaze pierced right through Dream. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Embarrassed that George could so clearly see the decision he had already made, Dream dipped his head. “You won’t lose me,” he said firmly. “I won’t misuse my power. I won’t use it at all, except to protect us. And if I start to lose control – I’ll have you. I’ll have Sapnap. You’ll pull me back.”
George didn’t look convinced, and his gaze didn’t sway. A breeze rippled over the lake, playing with his hair. “If I asked you not to do this,” he said, “would you?”
Dream took a deep breath. “Are you? Asking?”
George bit his lip. His eyes flickered down.
Then he said, “No. Not today.”
Divinity froze Dream from the inside, burning like ice against bare skin. His first day as a god was spent writhing in bed, consumed with a bizarre, cold fever that ripped through him like a blizzard. George sat with him for hours, his hand combing through Dream’s hair as Dream gasped into his shoulder, shaking.
“This hurts, George,” he whispered, his mind whirling in the gusts of power – wondering if he had made a mistake, if he had overestimated his own strength –
But George pulled him closer, the touch grounding, and said, “It’s okay, Dream. Just breathe.”
Dream’s mind latched onto George’s words as his hands held onto him like an anchor. George was more familiar, at this point, than his own body and mind, tethering him strongly to the world, warming him against the storm.
The next day, he was able to get to his feet, and by the third night, he was standing with George and Sapnap outside of their house on the lake, looking out at the wilderness in front of them.
“So,” Sapnap said, crossing his arms. “You gonna show us what you can do?”
Dream flexed his hands, feeling the molecules in the air offer to shift beneath them. His mind was lit up, like he was connected to everything he was seeing. It was all so personal, the spruce trees clambering for the sky, the caves whispering beneath the earth.
To Sapnap, he said, “I don’t think I should. I don’t think I should do anything I couldn’t normally do, unless I need to.” He felt he had a handle on the thing that had taken residence inside of him, and he didn’t feel the need to provoke it.
“That’s a good plan,” George said, grabbing his elbow. The touch felt bizarre. It was so small, compared to the vastness of what Dream was experiencing.
“Come on,” Sapnap complained, rolling his eyes. “You can give us one little show.”
Dream looked at George, who shrugged, and nodded. “Okay.”
He wanted a firework in his hand, and so there was one. That was all it took – the ease of it shocked him, almost scared him. He lifted it up and Sapnap stared at it, agape, before he set it off. It exploded, streaking the night sky with red and blue.
“Wow,” George mumbled, as Sapnap laughed in amazement, clapping his hands once.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Sapnap said in a roar, his voice echoing over the hills, “welcome to Dream’s kingdom!”
Dream held true to his word. He went about his days as though he had never changed, tilling the soil, expanding their home brick by brick. Soon, more wanderers started to join them – good people with kind hearts, names like Alyssa, Callahan, Sam. Dream knew each of them and liked them, and he could tell they respected him. That was all he needed.
Things were peaceful. They farmed, they fished. They sat on the roof of the house Dream had built with Sapnap and George and watched the stars.
Dream and George stole moments together wherever they could, in their rooms at night or somewhere in the deep, quiet forest that surrounded them. What they had together – it wasn’t a secret, but it was something private and precious, more precious than anything Dream had ever known. His feelings for George only grew stronger as his power slowly developed, their connection searing something deep and true inside of him.
When George pulled Dream against him, kissing him, the fire in his chest reminded him that he was still Dream, not just deity. George’s hands warmed him where they touched him, focusing him. He would push forward, holding George almost possessively in his arms, his mind fuzzy, intoxicated with touch.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he promised George night after night, whispering it into air warmed with breath, feeling a surge of satisfaction to know that he could keep his promise. “I swear I will.”
George wouldn’t respond. He’d just pull him closer.
Tommy was, at first, an amusement. A novelty, maybe.
Unlike the others who had drifted into his land, searching for something Dream could give them - security, safety - Tommy seemed insatiable. He was impetuous, unafraid of the power Dream clearly held. He blurred the line between courage and recklessness until they became indistinguishable.
Dream liked it. Tommy provoked him not because he wanted Dream’s power, but because he respected it – because Dream was the greatest challenge Tommy could find.
So he let Tommy stay. Gave him a place, gave him a claim to a part of Dream’s land. He agreed to let some of Tommy’s friends follow after him.
He regretted it the instant he met Wilbur.
Unlike Tommy, Wilbur did not look at Dream with wild-eyed wonder. His gaze was evaluating – almost condescending.
“This is your land, then?” he asked on his first day, standing with Dream on the wooden path he had constructed to connect the corners of his territory.
“That’s right,” Dream said, pulling himself up. “The SMP.”
In front of them, Tommy and Tubbo raced down the path, screaming with laughter. The forest was thinning, buildings slowly replacing trees. The land was developing into something new.
Wilbur nodded, pursing his lips as his gaze flickered over Dream. “And how are you liking divinity so far? You’re a young god, right?”
Dream blinked and crossed his arms. “How can you tell?”
Wilbur shrugged. “I’ve known a few others.” A smile quirked at his lips. “They haven’t always impressed me.”
“Well, it’s going fine, for me,” Dream said, feeling defensive. “I took this on because I had to, not because I wanted power. This is a peaceful place for me and my friends. If you can abide by that, then you’re welcome to stay.”
A long moment passed before Wilbur dipped his head, deferential – or maybe mocking. “Understood,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and strolling down the path, calling for Tommy and Tubbo, who trailed after him like ducklings to their mother.
Dream watched him go and felt something cold and jealous twist in his chest.
Those walls. Those fucking walls. Like an enormous middle finger in Dream’s face. A kick in the shins. Absolutely no reason for it. Absolutely nothing wrong in the SMP, no conflict, no war. And Wilbur decided to build a fucking fortress.
“He’s an asshole,” Dream told George, standing on the hill overlooking the black and yellow monstrosity. Ice clawed its way up his throat. “He’s a fucking asshole.”
“Have you asked him why he’s doing it?” George asked.
“I told him and Tommy to rein it back a little, and now he’s declaring independence. He’s like a fucking child,” Dream raged, his fists clenching at his sides. For a moment, he saw the walls collapsing; he could do it with a few flicks of his wrist, if he gave into the desire.
But then George’s hand was on his arm, and Dream took a shuddering breath, dropping his shoulders. “It’s okay, Dream,” he said. “Don’t lose control. We can figure this out ourselves.”
Dream jerked his head. He knew he could be angry without giving into rage. He could keep control over this. But as he kept looking at L’Manburg, he felt cold claws sinking into his chest, refusing to let go.
“I won’t use my power,” he said, his words short and sharp. “But this nation can’t exist. They can’t ask for my protection while spitting in my face. They can be a part of the SMP, or they can leave.”
“Okay, then,” George said, and Dream turned his head. “We’ll fix it.”
The war should have been short and efficient. Eret was easily won with promises of false power, and the rebels never stood a real chance of victory. Yet they kept fighting, even once they had lost everything, practically taunting Dream to take things further. To make things worse.
Dream held no desire to kill any of them. He never had. They were the ones who had started this. They were the instigators.
So when Tommy’s hubris finally eclipsed his self-preservation and he challenged Dream to a duel, he took the opportunity. He took the chance to end it.
They strung their arrows and took their positions, the world still and frozen around them. Wilbur counted the paces, his voice grating in Dream’s ears. His hands were cold, and he moved almost automatically, feeling the divine chill creep up his chest. He shoved it down; he was doing this himself, like he had promised George. Playing fair.
“Ten paces, fire!”
Dream turned and let an arrow fly.
It missed. It missed by inches, and Tommy’s arrow whistled towards his chest –
It splintered in the air and fell away, and Dream strung back another arrow.
His affection for Tommy was gone. This time, he wanted his arrow to hit. So it did.
Tommy hit the ground. Tubbo screamed. Wilbur rushed to his side.
“Cheating bastard!” Tommy shouted, blood pouring from the wound in his shoulder.
Dream turned and saw George staring at him, his gaze dark and disappointed.
“What did you want me to do, instead? You wanted me to die?”
“Obviously not, Dream.”
“Then what should I have done?”
“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know.”
“Tommy and Wilbur started this. They’re the ones causing conflict, not me -,”
“Dream, the only thing they’ve done is wound your pride. That’s the harm you can’t handle, not anything else. You could have just let them alone – you could have just let them have their little country, and -”
“So that’s what you think this is? You think it’s about my ego?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
“I think it’s your deity.”
“…George.”
“I think you’re losing yourself, Dream.”
“ George. I’m not. It’s still me, I’m still me, I’m still -,”
“You couldn’t handle the fact that Wilbur didn’t respect you. That he didn’t – I dunno. Pay respects to you. You want control over what’s happening. That’s bad, Dream.”
“How – how is that bad?”
“Because you can’t control people. I mean you literally can’t. Even if you have power over them, you can’t control them. And if you try, you’re going to lose. Everything. ”
“…”
“Make a deal, Dream.”
“What? But we’ve already won -”
“Make a deal with Tommy. Give them independence. Make them happy. And then leave them alone.”
“Now I feel like you’re the one trying to control me, George.”
“…I think we both know that’s not possible.”
The discs felt heavy and cool in his hands. Dream didn’t know what they meant, or why they mattered so much to Tommy, really; but the way Tommy thrust them forward, his face screwed up like he had swallowed the bitterest of pills, was enough to tell Dream not to question it. Tommy saw this trade as worth the independence of his nation. Dream took the deal.
The revolutionaries celebrated late into the night, their lights and shouts bleeding over the walls. Dream watched from the nearby hill, tapping his fingers against the music discs that meant so much more than what they were. He still had power over this. He could still intervene, if he had to.
A warm hand pressed into his back. Dream straightened up and turned to see George, whose eyes were dark - black pools in the night.
“Are you coming back?” George asked, tilting his head towards their house.
“Yes,” Dream said, pressing his lips together in an imitation of a smile. “I’ll be there soon.”
George paused a second longer before nodding and turning away, walking down the wooden path alone, his shoulders hunched against the dark.
Dream watched him leave, and then he looked around the hill where he was standing. Without the fog of rage and jealousy, he realized for the first time how badly he had scarred his own domain; the deep gashes in the earth from dynamite, the burned-down trees that had once felt like friends. Regret sparked hot and shameful in his chest. And a voice in his head, familiar and soft, told him a truth he couldn’t ignore.
You won’t be the same if you follow this path.
Yet a whoop from L’Manburg still set his teeth to grit, and he turned back towards the rebel country. At the top of its walls, he saw Wilbur, celebrating his unearned victory, his arrogant laughter sending shards of ice down to the core of Dream’s being.
A different voice, this one quiet and fast like snowfall, said: maybe you shouldn’t care.